


Finding Home

by Let_bijohns_be_bi_johns, mphelmsman



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Big Brother Mycroft, M/M, PTSD John, Roleplay, Season 3 AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 21:21:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,233
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7238941
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Let_bijohns_be_bi_johns/pseuds/Let_bijohns_be_bi_johns, https://archiveofourown.org/users/mphelmsman/pseuds/mphelmsman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based on a on going role play between the authors.</p>
<p>What might have happened if Mycroft had asked John for help before going to Serbia. What might have happened if Sherlock had wanted to take John along in the first place?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finding Home

John sighed as he looked at his phone, he was supposed to be excited about going on a date… Wasn't he? He must be; it had been almost two years since his best friend had killed himself and John still thought about him every day with pain like a spear in the heart. He clenched his jaw and moved to get changed for his only half desired date, setting his phone down on the bed.

John not sure what he should really wear, the only suit he had was ruined due to his old flat mate exploding something in the pocket of it. And he was far too caught up in his thoughts he to hear his phone buzzing from his bed.

Mycroft sighed at the unanswered texted. He hadn’t wanted to undertake this task in such an uncontrolled environment as John Watson’s house but his brother’s face the last time he had seen him. His unnatural stillness and mix of intense focus and utter blindness to reality.Only John Watson would do. He ordered a car and made his way to the bedsit that had been confirmed as the Doctor's current residence.

John was just exiting the bedsit when he bumped into the eldest Holmes, he still hadn’t read his texts as he had switched off his phone and it was in his back pocket. He looked up at Mycroft and sighed, his hand clenching at his side. “Good evening, Mycroft. To what do I owe the pleasure of your presence?” he asked, his question laced with sarcasm.

Mycroft straightened his suit after literally running into the smaller man. “Dr. Watson,” he said in a flat voice. He knew he might be giving away his tension by the grip he had on his umbrella handle but he was not sure the good Doctor would see it.

John had learnt a lot about body language in his time with Sherlock, granted he wasn’t as skilled as the Holmes brothers, but he knew how to read white knuckles and tight lips. He didn't say anything, he just looked at Mycroft expectantly.

“I know I might be the last person on Earth you may want to see, Doctor, but I have a matter to discuss with you that concerns us both.” Idly he checked around to see if there might be anyone observing them. He had the CCTV cameras, but there were other ways of surveillance.

He hadn’t heard much from Mycroft other than the occasional text over the past two years, of which John ignored. “I am busy,” he said a little impatiently, gripping the cane in his hand a little tighter. “And what could that be?” he asked. He had recently started using a cane again and would have no qualms with clattering Mycroft in the shins with it. After the funeral John hadn't heard much from Mycroft other than the occasional text, which he had adamantly ignored. “I am busy, can’t it wait?” he asked a little more impatiently, gripping his cane a little tighter.

“Actually I rather doubt that it can. Would you please?” Mycroft gestured at his car parked at the  
curb. “It’s to do with my brother’s….will.” it was only a tiny lie after all. It certainly had entirely to his brother’s wishes or, rather needs, than his own.

John's eyes narrowed at Mycroft.“Why now? Why years later?” he asked angrily, gripping his cane so hard his hand trembled. He knew the elder Holmes knew he was still mourning his best friend and bringing it up would likely hurt him.

“If you would come with me I shall explain. Doctor….John, you will want to hear me out. I assure you I would not have approached you if it was not absolutely necessary.” Mycroft tried to convey his sincerity without revealing the fear that accompanied it. John Watson was his last chance.

“If I come with you, will you leave me alone?” he asked disdainfully. He was mildly aware he should probably call his date and tell her he wouldn't be there on time, or knowing Mycroft, not at all. But she seemed unreal compared to the figure before him. He clenched his jaw before agreeing to come, promising himself he would get to clatter Mycroft if it wasn't a will reading.

Mycroft guided the Doctor into the car. After it had pulled away he cautiously handed John a folder. Everything would depend on the man’s reaction to the photos contained in it. A folder of images taken of Sherlock Holmes date stamped from the date of the Fall until very recently.

John looked through the photos, staying as calm as possible, even though it was obvious he was boiling over with rage.“What is this?” he asked, his voice dangerously quiet, never meeting Mycroft’s gaze,unable to look away from the ragged and forlorn figure that the most recent picture showed.

“Literally it is the reason why I need your help.” Mycroft sighed, “I admit I gave you those to get your attention before I could explain the details. As you can see my brother did not die that day at Bart’s but only because with my aid he had planned ahead. Although since Moriarty had threatened you as well as two other my brother holds dear I doubt Sherlock would have done any different even if we had not had a plan.” Mycroft leaned forward to emphasize his points. “You do remember that Moriarty favored assassins as well as bombs?” Mycroft knew he was being unforgivably flippant but it hid his fear and it might have the happy result of directing Watson’s anger at himself rather than his brother. “It was rather overkill; all he had to do really was threaten you.”

John was on the verge of strangling Mycroft. He was visibly angry. He ground his teeth together and looked at Mycroft. “Do tell me this plan before I give you a broken nose” he requested, clenching his fists at his sides.

“Sherlock’s plan or my present one to try to find him?’ Mycroft knew it was a loaded expression and waited for the inevitable explosion.

John gave him a venomous glare. “Both if it pleases his lordship,” he said flatly, grinding his teeth again before looking out the window so he could calm himself.

Mycroft’s eyebrows raised. He was impressed at the man’s control. He had always viewed John Watson somewhat like an unexploded bomb and it seemed, in the two years since Sherlock left, the detonation system had been up somewhat updated. “Moriarty’s organization was vast. Over the months I had him in custody I was only able to get hints from him, mere hints, but they were enough to give us a starting place for eliminating it all. My brother hoped that by letting everyone think he was dead it would free him to hunt for those that might take up where Moriarty has left off.”

“So I'm assuming he's close to figuring it out? Or you wouldn't have revealed this to me,” he asked, looking at Mycroft. “I still don't understand why neither of you told me. You let me mourn. Couldn't you have staged my death so I could help him?” he asked, his tone more sad than angry now.

“Actually I contacted you in the hope that we may figure him out.” Mycroft sighed, this wasn’t going exactly to plan but he was too weary to care. Still he needed to kill time until they got to his office. “Had you realized that after the, shall we say, Pool incident, that all the details about your life were classified under the Official Secrets Act?”

John looked at him, shock flashing across his features. “What? Why?” he asked. His anger now on the back burner. He was having a hard time keeping his emotions in check.

The car pulled into the underground opening and Mycroft gestured John to exit the vehicle. When he himself had debarked he continued. “At first I thought it might be merely a whim of Sherlock’s. He had always been rather possessive of your company. But when I objected he was adamant. After Moriarty set his final game in motion I came to the conclusion that it was to protect you from the kind of harassment Sherlock had triggered in the press. They went after him like a pack of rabid dogs but you were completely ignored by them. It appeared the proper conclusion at the time.” Mycroft gestured John into his private underground office. “And perhaps it was one of the reasons.”

John nodded and followed, listening to Mycroft talk. He processed the information slowly, waiting for the rest of the explanation.“Okay… and…?”

Mycroft thought about sitting at his desk but chose one of the two chairs instead. He was in no place to claim even a symbolic authority here. “His true purpose was revealed after he left London. Any contact between myself and my brother was required to use a fact about your life as a passcode as it were. And it got more elaborate with every contact; his demand became far ranging before he would believe they were one of my agents. They had to memorize whole pages of the minutiae of your personal history to verify themselves. I may have refused to allow you to go with him but he made a point of carrying you with him around the globe.”

John looked hurt by this statement, knowing Mycroft had stopped him from staying with his best friend pressed all of his buttons. Rage flared in his eyes as he swung for the elder Holmes, catching his cheek hard. “I could have helped him!” he yelled.

Mycroft took the blow as he had meant to, turning with it to minimize the damage. “Possibly,” Mycroft said after he had spat blood into a handkerchief, “or, as I thought at the time you could have distracted him. He had been at least somewhat trained for undercover work; you, for all your time in the military, were ill suited to any form of intelligence work.” Mycroft wiped a hand across his forehead. “I was wrong, I admit that. I should have brought you in as his handler at least. I now admit that his… attachment to you may have been the only thing holding him to sanity.”

John was still fuming but he had enough control to calmly ask “Can you please put me in contact with him? I want to talk with him.”

Mycroft swallowed hard, “Believe me John, at this point, if I could you would be speaking with him this instant.”

“Why not?” He asked, his fists clenching again, he was tempted to leave and find Sherlock himself. “You have surveillance of him, you know where he is. If not you know how to find him.”

“I knew where he was three months ago. In fact I was the contact. He had demanded current surveillance tapes of you this time as the passcode.” Mycroft leaned forward and clasped his hands under his chin like he had done that day at Speedy’s when they had decided to lie to Sherlock about Irene Adler. “I am still not sure that he knew it was me. On reflection I’m rather inclined to think he wasn’t sure himself. But he watched six hours of tape of your daily movements, including I regret to say your first date with a Ms Mary Morstan.” Mycroft sighed, “He then took the folder containing the details of his next mission and departed without saying more than a few words. We lost track of his movements when he entered Serbia.”

John thought for a short while before replying to Mycroft. “Then we get his attention then.” John said, looking at him. “Stage something, find a way to catch his eye.”

“What would you suggest?” Mycroft asked him in a brittle voice. “It would have to be something that he could verify was of your free will. He has become obsessed with your safety rather more after he left London. Moriarty’s threat to you impacted him more violently than I had estimated at the time. Most of his work has been meticulous and understated but any person that was in the line of assassins that might threaten you he became…… messy.”

John looked very disinterested whilst Mycroft talked, looking like he was playing with his phone. “He's sentimental of me, yes?” He asked, still typing on his phone.

“If you consider raining the wrath of God down on anyone he thinks might be a threat to you sentiment I think that could be the case.” Mycroft said. “The problem is I do not think my brother is in a rational state anymore. And if I had had any choice about sending him on that last mission I would have refused to send him.”

John had sent a text to Sherlock.

‘I know that you're alive, your brother has told me everything. Contact me. JW’

He then looked back up at Mycroft before sitting back.

Mycroft looked pained, “You assume he still has his phone then?” he rubbed his head as if he were in pain, “I pray that is the case.”

“Phone, no… Sim card yes…” He hummed, watching Mycroft’s face as both of their phones started to ding with new messages.

John looked a little smug by this point.


End file.
